Of Sunny Days and Starry Nights
by A Crownless Queen
Summary: Drabbles and oneshots from various prompts I find off of tumblr that are under 5000 words. Forever complete (because they're oneshots and drabbles). / #4 The echoes of a ladybug and her cat that have been loss in time, but are no less meaningful.
1. Helplessness

**Title:** Helplessness  
 **Kissing Prompt #5:** Angry kiss  
 **Summary** : To say that Chat Noir would never forget the terror of seeing that man walking on Marinette with that knife in his hand, like that hunter from _Snow_ _White_ , would be the understatement of the century.  
 **Pairing:** MariChat  
 **Word Count:** 3.5k  
 **Rating:** T for language (and kissing)  
 **A/N:** Oh. My. Lord. Please, just take this. I've been agonizing over this for months. I've literally partially written each pairing for the square and axed them out at least once because I didn't like the way it flowed.

Also: fight scene because I feel like it. Forgive me, for it's been over a year since I've written a proper fight and I'm probably rusty. (The closest are a gladiator game that the main character watched and a giant wave nearly drowning the main character.)

Oh, and have the angst and the rain for good measure. I'm projecting my own feelings over this prompt on the poor catboy.

* * *

Helplessness

 **Summary:** To say that Chat Noir would never forget the terror of seeing that man walking on Marinette with that knife in his hand, like that hunter from _Snow_ _White_ , would be the understatement of the century.

.

 **Prompt #5: Angry Kiss**

 _I was screaming loud tonight  
_ _Can you hear my voice this time?_

-Fight Song, Rachel Platten

* * *

It's raining. _Of course_ it's raining. How utterly cliché for it to be raining during an akuma attack.

The thoughts are unusually sarcastic in his mind, but he figures that a black cat can't be happy all the time. Especially in the rain. Hair flops into Adrien's eyes as his ears lie flat against his head and rivets of water fall over his leather. He glares at the dark sky.

 _BOOM_

He jumps, leaping to the side, just missing the way the concrete explodes. He swears under his breath, something he _knows_ pere won't approve of (and Nino would probably look at him twice), and the sound of the word on his lips, in his voice with that inflection, surprises him.

"Anytime now would be helpful, Ladybug." He calls loudly to her, ducking out of the way of another thorny vine from the plant the akuma _–the victim,_ but it's hard to remember that the person controlling the plants is not the real villain when he's tired, hungry and _wet_ – wields. He grunts when a thorn tears through the leather and his skin, drawing blood.

"Lucky Charm!" She intones, and not long after that, the akuma is cleansed as the rain still pounds against the ground. He bumps her fist under the shelter of a canopy before they part ways yet again. It seems like people have a way of doing that in his life – They walk in and walk out as they please, with no regard to his feelings.

Marinette's smile in his head reminds him that at least one person cares.

He hears a crash and he groans in his head, wishing he could ignore the sound but knowing that his curiosity (and his conscious) wouldn't allow him to leave it. Just when he was going to release his transformation too.

He wheels around, and a knife sinks into the wall right next to his ear. His breathing stops for a moment as his eyes widen and slowly move in his head, reaffirming that someone had just aimed a knife at his shoulder and wouldn't have missed if he hadn't move. The brown, worn hilt enters his vision.

 _That was sheer, dumb luck._

He meets the man's dark eyes – a dark blue, the glare harder than rock. He doesn't sense the energy the akumas usually emit from their victims. A normal person then – no, a criminal.

He would have left then and there and let the police deal with him – after all, they can deal with people who are not under an akuma's influence. The man had different ideas.

Quicker than he can follow with his eye, the man _moves_ forward. Adrien barely dodges out of the way in time, pivoting to the right side of his fist before the man wheels around on him. A tense heartbeat, where the man breathes in heavy, angry huffs and Adrien tries to wrap his mind around the sudden onslaught of Not-Akuma-Related-Attack.

"Chat Noir, the hero of the people." The man's face broke into a grimace-like grin. That was a title he usually never heard associated with his name. Usually, Ladybug was the one who was hailed as a hero and he was just the cat who hid in the shadows rather than walk in the light. "I wonder what history books will say when I crush your skull. Will they call you a martyr? Will I be the one hailed as a hero?"

"Thanks, but no thanks." He drawls, carefully keeping his tone even. "Nobody is dying today, least of all _me-_ ow."

The man lunges and throws the first punch, a low hit to his stomach. Adrien catches it in the crook of his elbow, but the man twists and frees his arm. He spins out of the way, a glitter of silver catching his eye. Another knife.

"That's _paw_ sitively _paw_ ful." He comments, and then he has to back flip out of the way of another small flying dagger – _is this guy hiding them up his shirt or something?!_ He leaps, no he flies, and runs to the other side of the alley. Another curse falls from his lips, and then Adrien chases after him. He could go after the civilians and go off on a slaughter of the innocents due to his rage at Paris' resident superheroes.

 _... Too much anime, Agreste._

"Chat?"

Adrien swings at Marinette's voice, forgetting the criminal for a heartbeat. _Why is Marinette out this late, in the_ rain _?_ She looks like a half-drowned kitten, with her hair soaked through and clothes plastered to her skin, revealing every subtle curve of her body.

 _No,_ bad _Adrien. Pay attention!_

"Princess!" He breathes, and her eyes widen as she looks at something over his shoulder. He barely registers her warning to _look out_ before he's raising his baton to parry the blow, spinning on the balls of his feet. His ears ring with the sound of steel crashing against iron and his arm vibrates from the strength behind the criminal's blow.

"What a pretty lass..." The man says and, to his Adrien's disgust, he licks his lips. He draws back, grip tight on the knife. Adrien glances at it – if only he could get it away ... And then he looks back. His eyes are laughing – at them, and it brings an uneasy fluttering to his stomach. He takes a step back, and his wet leather boots squelch against the wet asphalt. "Maybe after I'm done with you, me and my buddies will entertain her for a while. I'd bet she'd like that more than hanging out with a grungy street cat like you."

 _Rushing._ His mind rushes like a river finally breaking a dam. He hears Marinette breathe in sharply and the soft squeak of a rubber sole hitting the pavement and the rustle of wet clothing against wet skin. He glares – he wasn't happy being out in the rain to begin with, but now he's downright _infuriated_ by how disrespectful this ... this _rat_ is of Marinette. She shouldn't even have to hear comments like this – someone half as kind, wholesome, _pure_ as she is doesn't deserve to have them directed at them. He hates people like this, who have no shred of human decency.

The man smirks.

As if a switch had just been turned on, the man leaps forward, bringing his knife up. Adrien holds his baton up, parrying the blow and ducking to avoid another. There's a stinging in his cheek and something warm runs over his lips. He tastes it.

Blood.

 _He cut through my mask!_ He realizes, gingerly touching the stinging area right under his eye. His eyes narrow – an experienced fighter. This man is not some novice. He's probably been fighting for a while.

And then the man is moving, his knife moving quicker than he expected. He parries as blows thunder against him, but he's no longer on the offensive. He wheels back, nearly tripping over his own tail once and slipping on the wet pavement several times. A staff isn't meant to fight against a knife or in close quarters on top of his bad luck. It snags against something (a wall? A canopy?), and his heart stutters to a halt.

 _No, no, no!_

He tries to yank it out, but it only buries deeper into the ... _whatever it's caught on._ He jerks his arm back and tugs it, jamming it up and down and – oh, _this can't be happening –_ and then there's a flash of silver in the corner of his vision, and his heart stutters to a halt for a half second. And then his body goes on autopilot, leaping, twisting, dancing out of the way. His tongue hurts – _did he bite it?_ – and his legs ache as he crouches, but he leaps forward.

He's weaponless now, getting tired, and the maniac has a dagger. And it's still raining on top of that.

 _Just bloody fan_ _ **tas**_ _tic._

He weaves in and out of the way of the dagger, stepping backward to avoid being hit and stepping forward to try and take it from him. His vision is taking a red tint. A dodge, punch, duck, parry – the man leaps forward and his knees are swept out from underneath him.

His head connects with the hard, wet, _freezing_ pavement, but he has no time to think about that as he grabs the man's wrist and using his knees to try to keep him as far away from him as _possible_ even though he's so _heavy_ , pushing _back_ as the dagger presses against his throat. Sweat beads at his forehead.

In the corner of his eye, he sees a spot of blue and pink, and then the man screams as he rolls off Adrien. No, it's more like he's _thrown_ off. He looks up and – Marinette. He sees Marinette standing there, breathing heavily, clutching something that looks like a baseball bat in her pale knuckles. She looks pale, but her eyes are glinting like twin chips of ice.

"You little _bitch_ —"

The criminal is furious, and with that Adrien senses danger.

"Marinette, run!" He gasps out, rolling over and pushing himself up. But Marinette doesn't move to run _like she should have two minutes ago_ – she stands there like a statue. And then the man charges at her, _and how does he still have that knife?_

"MOVE!" He screams, and that triggers her into action. She leaps to the side in a way that reminds him of somebody else, but now isn't the time or the place to think about that. And then she trips. He runs, his feet pounding hard against the ground. Marinette scrambles gracelessly until she hits the wall, and the man holds his knife above his head and the scene reminds him too much of that one from _Snow White_ where the hunter tries to kill the princess. His heart races and all he can think of is _he can't lose her too, she's my friend –_

And he _leaps_ while the man's back is turned. Desperation fuels his movements now – _protect Marinette, protect Marinette, protectherprotectherprotectprotectprotectpro-_ and he wraps his legs around the man's stomach and his arms around his neck.

The knife hits the ground with a clatter as the man drops it reflexively and reaches up. He can't think anymore – he just can't let him hurt her and he really doesn't know what he's doing and _why the Hell is she still here?_ Fingers claw into his leather, somehow ripping through it, but he ignores the blood and the sound of the sirens and the choking noises. His lips are drawn back into a snarl as he keeps his arms tight and he _can't let go can't let go don't let go don'tletgo –_

The man's lips are turning blue and he catches a glimpse of Marinette's terrified expression – or was that horror? – but he can't think and he has to concentrate on this. He feels the body fall forward, and he falls with it. His knees crash into the pavement, taking his breath away, but he can't stop can't stop _can'tstopcan'tcan'tca —_ and everything is dizzying and he tightens and tightens and holds and holds and he has to protect her –

"Chat! Chat, stop! You're going to kill him! CHAT!"

And he pulls back like he's been stung, and shakes his head to clear it. He's straddling the man's waist, and his lips are blue and his face looks gray and _oh, God I could have killed him –_

She's crying, and he knows it's not the rain because of the expression on her face. He thinks he may be too, though that may be the rain and the dirt and the blood and the pain. The ringing of sirens pierce through the tense silence, reminding him that it's probably better if they were gone before the police swarm in.

"Marinette?" he whispers, trying to break the awkward silence. She blinks up at him, and he stands, kicking the knife far, _far_ away into the sewers so that the man will never be able to use it again. He touches her elbow, and when she doesn't shy away from him, he curls his fingers around it to help guide her back home.

At least, that's what he says inside of his head. If he were honest with himself, it was for him just as much as it was for her. He'd been terrified for his life – their lives.

The silence is heavy as the rain keeps coming down and cops race down the streets, lights flashing red and blue while the sirens blare. He stays in the shadows, out of the lights from the streets because he doesn't want to be seen and stopped. He just wants to get Marinette home, go back to his house and sleep for a month. Wants to pretend this never happened.

When they arrive at her house, they don't speak any words as he silently helps her climb up her fire escape and into her room. She pulls him in after her, and finally the rain can't come in here.

She looks at him for a moment, and he's relieved that her blue eyes are finally beginning to clear. Her gaze roams up and down his body, and he realizes she's taking in his injuries before he can do anything to hide them away – _not that he really would; she's patched him up so many times that it would be stupid to even try._ She walks out of her door and closes it behind her, so Adrien lowers himself to her rug slowly. Every limb protests the movements already, and he realizes he's going to be sore tomorrow.

Half of his claw has been torn off, so he can see his thumb and palm. There are scratch marks all over his lower arm where there is no leather to protect him, and the cut under his eye stings. His chest hurts. He breathes heavily, trying to calm his racing heart to no effect. He takes the glove off, and his skin looks sickly against the black in the dim moonlight.

 _Why didn't she_ run _?_ But he knows the answer – Marinette is many things, but a coward is not one of them. If she were any braver, she'd be a lioness. There was no way she would have left him to fend for himself, though he wishes she would.

No, what confuses him is why she froze up.

Except ... that's really not confusing, is it? If he were in her place, he'd probably have froze up too. He shudders. If he didn't fight akuma on a near daily basis, he'd probably be terrified too. If he was just Adrien Agreste and he'd run into that maniac ...

Her terror was suddenly far too understandable. As a superhero, he feared nothing because nothing could really hurt him. As a civilian ...

Marinette enters the room with supplies – bandages, a first aid kit – in her arms. He moves to stand despite his protesting legs, but she crosses the room in several strides and sits down in front of him. His heart sinks as she keeps her eyes averted but holds her hand out.

"Marinette?" he whispers.

"What?" she snaps, and that's when he knows she's angry for some reason. He puts his hand in hers, the one that has no claws, and she drags it to her lap.

"You're angry."

She snaps, like a coil being cut, and her shoulders drop and her posture slacks. She pours hydrogen peroxide onto a washcloth and he waits for her to say something. Except she doesn't. She puts the washcloth down on torn skin and he hisses from the sting of the disinfectant against recently torn skin.

"Why? Did I do something?" He asks once the sting fades and she's covering his hand with bandages. She sighs and stills, and her fingers touch his.

It's the first time he's felt her skin on his, he realizes with a start.

"Not you. I just... I should have _done_ something more to help you." She grimaces, tucking into herself. "You put yourself in harm's way for me and ... What if you died? What then?"

 _I doubt anyone will really miss me much,_ he thinks, but he ignores that thought because he knows that Nino would miss him, and Alya, and Marinette at least.

"It's what I do for people I care about, Marinette. If I hadn't, then you would have been hurt – probably killed." He breathes. "I'm just an alley cat whose job is to protect Paris. Not many people would miss me."

"That's not true!" She bursts out, and he looks at her. She's still angry – he can see it in her eyes and in the way her grip tightens around his wrist. "You're so much more than just an alley cat – Ladybug wouldn't be able to do half of the things she can without you, Chat. Paris needs you just as much as it needs Ladybug and ... and I _hate_ the way you keep throwing yourself at the enemy like your life is meaningless or something."

He grabs her wrists before she can hurt herself. "My life is _nothing_ without Ladybug—" She shakes her head. "—because without Ladybug, there would be no Chat Noir."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

He nods. "I do."

Her eyes harden. "I'd miss you." _I know,_ he thinks. "Chat Noir is just as important as Ladybug, because without Chat Noir, Ladybug wouldn't be able to do half the things she does."

"I'd bet she could." He says before he can censor himself, and then he cringes at his words. They were true, but hers were as well.

"Agh!" She whisper-screams, throwing her hands up. "You are _impossible._ "

"Im _paw_ sible, you mean?" He echoes, trying to lighten the mood. She glares at him, and he realizes that he just made a very grave mistake.

"That's it, I'm done with you. I'm going to bed." And she stands up and stomps over to her bed. He watches as she climbs up the ladder with jerky movements, and he flinches. _...I hope she'll find it in herself to forgive me ... one day ... probably when we're ninety or something. If I even live that long._

"Night, Marinette." He whispers and stands up. He's no longer welcome, and he's going to have to go out into the cold, wet rain. He drags his feet as he walks over to the door to her balcony, and part of him hopes that she'll just let him crash on the floor. _Better not push that._

He hears sheets rustle but he figures that's just her moving to get into a move comfortable position, so he ignores it. He turns the doorknob, mentally preparing himself to go outside into the horrible, horrible, horrible _rain_ — He's going to get sick tomorrow or the day after, isn't he?

As the door swings partway open, Marinette grabs his left bicep in a steel-tight grip and _yanks_ harder than he expected such a small person could. He spins, barely able to keep his balance and he grabs her shoulders to steady himself. He opens his mouth to say something—

Cookies.

Her mouth crashes against his, and instantly his brain short-circuits. His hands drop from her shoulders to her small waist and he pulls her flush against him. Her hands push against his chest and he wheels back, out into the rain.

Water and cookies mix and he trips over his tail and crashes against the ground. She falls with him, but her hands tangle into his soaked hair, cushioning his head. Her legs tangle with his as her fingernails dig into his head and he's pretty sure his lips are going to bruise tomorrow on top of everything else, but he doesn't mind that since he's pretty sure her lips are going to be bruised tomorrow as well.

Eventually, her mouth leaves his and her lips blaze a trail from his jaw and up to his ear and then down to his collarbone. His eyes close. A sound bubbles out from the back of his throat and his stomach, and he feels her wet clothes too keenly between his ungloved hand and the covered one.

Her fingers reach up and cup his cheeks far gentler than the way she just bit into his shoulder, and she pulls away and he opens his eyes to look at her. His hand shakes as he reaches up to brush her wet hair out of her eyes.

Her lips press again his again, and he tastes salt on them. She pulls away and presses her head against his chest. He feels the gentle press of her lips against his heart, and he shudders. His eyelids flutter.

"I can't lose you," she whispers. "You're one of my best friends."

He swallows and brushes his lips against the crown of her head. "You won't," he promises, and she whimpers. He means it but he has to tell himself that he intends to keep it. They both know deep down that if push comes to shove, he'll put Ladybug first.

Just like every Chat Noir before him.


	2. Selflessly Selfish, Selfishly Selfless

**Title:** Selflessly Selfish, Selflessly Selfish  
 **Kissing Prompt #25:** "We can never be together" kiss  
 **Summary** : He wasn't sure how hot chocolate and that admission descended into this… this _madness,_ but he couldn't seem to stop himself.  
 **Pairing:** MariChat  
 **Word Count:** 1,567  
 **Rating:** T+ (Does this qualify as a makeout?)  
 **A/N:** Dear, sweet Anon, you do not request a "we can never be together" kiss with the angiest pairing out of the Square with Kitty. It is a recipe for tears and screaming and a lot of cackling on my part.

(I'm sorry. I have a talent for writing angst. Please accept the Ladynoir at the end to help soothe the burn, though I fear it may not be much better. It's after 9 PM, so forgive any typos on my part.)

* * *

 **Adrien** knew it was wrong. _Of course_ he knew it was wrong. But he couldn't seem to stop himself when it came to Marinette—when he was in Chat's persona, and Marinette smiled at him like _that_ , with that coy twist of her lips and sassy remark on the tip of her tongue always.

"We need to… stop…" He gasped, his claws digging into the wall (was it even a wall? Or was it a balcony railing? He'd forgotten) as she nibbled on his ear, burning him in the most painful yet non painful way possible. Her hands were on his chest as her mouth, her _glorious, sweet, sly_ tongue slide over his lips. The determination to stop… _this…_ however, was no longer there, and his protest didn't sound convincing even to his own ears, especially when her body was pushed flush with his and her fingers were digging into his biceps now, and _her tongue—_

She pulled away, but his entire body felt weak and throbbing and hot all at the same time, even as his sanity battled with it for dominance. He dropped his head to rest between her eyebrows, his arms hanging uselessly by his side.

"I know," she whispered, sounding just as horrible as he felt. What had started out as hot chocolate and an admission of how distant his father was and how much he _hated_ being alone in that house had turned into… _this._ He didn't know what _this_ was exactly. They both knew they liked someone else even though it was entirely one-sided; but it was too close… he could never tell her his real name, that he was _Adrien Ageste,_ and he couldn't _stop_ loving Ladybug. To string her along like this was cruel, even though they both had known what they were getting into.

Well, maybe not entirely.

He felt physically ill. His stomach had a gigantic hole in it that wouldn't let him eat and keep it down, and he felt feverish and not… not _himself_ when he was around her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

She smiled bravely, her pearly white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. But he could see how her eyes shone with unshed tears. "What are you sorry for, silly cat? It's as much my fault as it is yours." Her fingers brushed his ears, and he shuddered. She didn't deserve this; and he wasn't entirely sure what _he'd_ done that was horrible enough for his luck to cause him to fall in love with someone outside of his civilian façade.

"I don't know." He said, laughing softly at himself. He kissed her knuckles and pulled away from her. He looked at her, drinking in the sight of her in all one last time as Chat Noir— _he wouldn't be able to do this again, wouldn't be able to not kiss her._ Her lips bruised and cheeks flushed, and her ink-black hair disheveled while her eyes pitched and swirled just like the ocean before a storm. She was one of the most beautiful women he knew, though her beauty was more subtle than most of the models he worked with during the daytime. It showed in the way her eyes lit up and in her laugh.

Their eyes met again, searching, looking, memorizing. He wondered if she knew that he saw the stars in her eyes; the stars and something greater, something there but not yet fully manifested. He wondered if she knew that he could see a million possibilities she could do, all of them greater than anything he could do. He knew that she would far surpass his expectations one day.

And if his heart was breaking into two pieces in the process, well, that was better for her. He wouldn't hold her back; and this, this was selfish.

Her hand was trembling but warm as she placed it on his cheek, and then her other went on his left cheek. He closed his eyes, his body not obeying him.

"Princess, please…" He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence though. _Please don't? Please do?_ His heart and mind where at war with each other, and he knew that to keep her was wrong… selfish… so horribly selfish. And he hoped that one day, she might be able to forgive him for doing this to her; to both of them. Hoped that maybe one day he could forgive himself.

"Just this last time… okay?" Her eyes are pleading, and he nodded weakly. He knew he probably wouldn't be strong enough to pull away from her… no, he'd have to be. It was for her own good.

But, just this last time. One last time.

Her lips pressed against his softly, gently, and his eyes fluttered shut as his hands dropped from her shoulders to her waist. Her mouth moved with his slowly like the eternal dance between the sun and the moon (she is the sun, bright and warm, while he's the moon— after all, if there is no sun then the moon cannot shine), and his heart was heavy.

She pulled away for a heartbeat, their heavy panting mingling and mixing together in the cold night air. "Princess…" he whispered, and then her lips crashed against his, harsher, fiercer. Her fingers wrapped around the skin tight leather of his suite _somehow,_ pulling him closer to her and he gripped her around the small of her back, practically hugging her. Tears burned his eyes as her tongue traced his lips and entered his mouth for a heartbeat before withdrawing, and then her lips pressed against his jaw line in searing hot fire. And then his cheeks. And his nose. And his eyes and his eyebrows and his forehead.

She kissed his lips again, long and slow, and then she pulled away. He pressed his forehead against hers for a moment, trying to draw into that deep well of courage Plagg gifted him with when he was Chat Noir, but it was dry.

"I love you," he confessed. And he did. Too much really, that was how they got into this situation in the first place. He loved her, but he loved Ladybug more, and that was the saddest thing about this. "I will never forget you."

"Chat, just… just go. Please. I can't let you go because I…" she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I won't forget you either."

He pressed his lips against her forehead one more time before he extended his baton and forced his legs to walk away from her.

It was the hardest thing he had to do in his life.

~…~

There was silence where there was banter the next day, Ladybug lost in her own world and he in his. Eventually, they ended up on their usual rooftop above a café, sipping at their mugs of hot chocolate in a way that was achingly similar to how he had with Marinette.

He sighed and stared at the lone marshmallow bobbing in his drink as if it held the answers to the universe. "Ladybug?"

She hummed. He closed his eyes, blocking out the lights of the city.

"Thanks for just being my friend." _Nothing more, nothing less._

She laid her forehead against his shoulder, and he rested his chin on top of her forehead. "We'll stay like this forever, right?" Her voice had a fragile edge to it, surprising him but… even she was human. "I don't want to lose one of my best friends."

He pulled away and sat across from her, crisscross applesauce. She copied his motions, and he held his pinky out. For a moment, she stared at her, and then a small smile slipped on her face and she interlocked their smallest fingers together.

"You're kind of stuck with me forever." He said with a wry smile, their fingers interlocked and drifting from side to side. She snorted.

"Humor me, please."

He straightened his back and cleared his throat, somewhat teasing her but not really at all. "Okay then. I pinky promise that I'll be around here to _bug_ you forever." She rolled her eyes at his pun, but he added more sincerely, "I don't want to lose one of my best friends either."

She smiled, her sky blue eyes softening slightly. "I pinky promise you won't."

His eyes burned and he doubled over as if there were a giant hand pushing down on his back until his head was resting against her shoulder. She went rigid, but just as he was about to pull away and apologize, her hands gently pressed against his shoulders, and then her arms rested against his back in some weird version of a hug.

"I'm glad you didn't let us become anything more…" he admitted softly. Because if she had… he wasn't sure what would happen. Just the thought now filled him with sheer dread, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "I don't…"

"Shh Kitty," she whispered. "You don't have to explain."

That's when the first of the unshed tears finally slipped from his eyelashes, and if he felt hot drops of water fall against his leather… well, it wasn't really something he would remember. This was his Lady after all, strong and invincible, and he was her Kitty, fragile and human.

That was the way it would always be.


	3. I'm Still Here

**Prompt #24** : "return from the dead" kiss  
 **Title:** I'm Still Here  
 **Summary:** "I'm scared," she says. _I'm scared to kiss him; scared he might not be real._ "I'm still here." he reassures her.  
 **Pairing:** Ladynoir/Adrinette  
 **Word Count:** 3094  
A/N: …Oops. A little more than a drabble. xD Once I started (at 6 AM no less), I couldn't stop.

* * *

 **"** **Chat!** Chat, _don't you dare die on me you—_ "

Tears dripped against the pavement as Marinette forced her cold, trembling fingers to rip the fabric of one of the t-shirts she had just finished sewing earlier that day into half. His blood coated her hands – too sticky, too warm – and she felt physically ill, like she was going to vomit. Her mouth was dry and her mind was a mess because _he was literally bleeding to death_ and she didn't know what to do. She put the cloth down on the wound, the wail of sirens in the distance. _Come on,_ she wanted to yell at them, _Why are you so damn slow?!_

"Chat, I swear to God, if you die on me now—" her words were tripping over one another, her tongue twisting so badly that she couldn't even finish the threat. Her stomach flipped over and she tasted bitter bile. She swallowed it back, grimacing. Her throat felt like it was on fire, but she didn't care. She couldn't—he couldn't –

"Come on, you stupid cat." She growled. "Wake up so I can smack you."

She placed her fingers on the side of his neck, trying, and failing, to find his pulse. Her breathing became uneven. _Non non non non non! Don't die, don't die, don't die—I won't forgive you if you die—this wasn't supposed to happen –_

"Can I help you?" A woman asked, her eyes wide and frightened. She began to shake her head, but then she nodded. Except she didn't know how she could help. Her mind was in a mess and the basic first aid training she had from school wasn't working; she couldn't remember any of it really anymore –

The paramedics swerved around the corner, and before it had even braked completely, the doors were opening and people were jumping out of the sides and the back.

 _Please don't die please don't die don't die don't—_

The paramedics pushed her out of the way, swarming around him and blocking her view of him. Her heart jumped into her throat and her head began to spin again and she was pretty sure her breathing was becoming uneven –

A hand. On her shoulder.

"Ladybug? He's going to be okay. Don't worry – he always is."

Alya's brown eyes were big and concerned, and she sobbed and flung her arms around her best friend, forgetting in that moment that she was Ladybug, and not Marinette. Alya stiffened, before her hands patted her back tentatively. She broke down.

"It's all my fault, Alya. I should've been paying more attention or—or—something and now he's hurt and—I don't even know how it happened and I just—"

"Hey, stop." She pulled away, but kept her hands on her shoulders. "It's not your fault. Chat Noir knew what he was doing – don't shake your head at me, you know it's true. Besides, what is done, is done."

Suddenly, the final beep of her transformation sounded through the air, and Ladybug's façade slid away. Alya's eyes went wide for a split second, and Marinette's breathing picked up because—she knew, _she knew. Who knows how many other people are here – Chat Noir's will be revealed!_

Her arms suddenly pull her down again. "It's going to be okay. Don't worry. He'll be fine."

She clutched the back of her shirt and nodded. Tears collected in her eyes, but she pulled away. She had to see him again – she was already nervous about letting him out of her sight for so long. She had to see him, if she didn't –

Alya takes her hand and pulls her toward the swarm of paramedics, successfully weaving them through the crowd of spectators. She can hear more sirens shrieking, and she knows that the police are probably coming—perhaps then Chat's identity won't be revealed…

"Miss, you can't come any closer." A young man said, more of a youth than a man really. Her glare snapped toward him, and he shivered. "I'm sorry, Miss."

"I—he's my partner, _one of my best friends._ I have to—"

The man's eyes are compassionate, but firm. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I wish I could let you see him, but rules are rules, no matter who it is."

She nodded weakly, and Alya rubbed her back. Her voice was soft as she said, "Can you tell us if he's going to be all right?"

The paramedic shook his head. "He's in real bad shape, ma'am. The chance of his survival is lower than fifty percent."

The world swayed, and the only thing that kept her upright was Alya's hand firmly supporting her. Her voice floated around her ears as she led them away from the paramedics, murmuring, "Let's find a place to sit," and "Come on, Marinette; we should stay out of their way." But she had to _see_ him again, had to make sure he was all right—

"Marinette, breathe."

She nodded weakly as she slid to the ground. She tried to breathe in deep and release it, but she just—she just couldn't, and tears were in his eyes again and she just—

"It's all my fault," she whispered. "He was protecting _me_ because I slipped on an oil puddle and I couldn't get out of the way in the time, and then I had to purify the akuma and, oh _God,_ there was _so much blood_ and it was so red and—and—"

Alya hugged her, and she sobbed against her shoulder. She wanted her mom, or dad, or better yet, both of them. But they weren't here and she was _so scared—_

"Are you Ladybug?"

She pulled away from Alya and looked at the officer in blue, wiping her eyes. He was younger than Sabrina's dad by quite a few years, but he was older than the paramedic. Out of habit, she began to shake her head before she realized—yeah, they knew who she was now. And she nodded. The cop looked uncomfortable.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked. She bit her lip before she nodded slowly, hesitantly. She stood up, just to make herself feel less powerless even though her legs felt like Jell-O, about to collapse at any moment.

"I… we were fighting Glacier when I slid on an oil spot on the road and slipped onto the ice. I-I wasn't able to get out of the way in time; the ice was so slippery and I've always been a bit of a klutz… C-Chat jumped in front of me and took Glacier's icicle. I-I can't remember much after that. There was so much blood…" She shuddered and closed her eyes. She looked up at him pleading, "Please, can I see him?"

She felt pathetic; not even like Marinette, but she couldn't stop herself and she was just so scared… The officer shook his head.

"I can't give you permission, miss. I'm real sorry."

She nodded. "O-okay."

A little later, the same paramedic she had talked to earlier walked up to her and Alya.

"I had to get clearance from the big boss, but you can come on."

Relief rushed through her veins as she nodded. When she looked back at Alya, she looked concerned, but she nodded and smiled at her, so Marinette followed the paramedic. " _Merci,_ " she murmured. He nodded at her, and she leapt into the ambulance.

And saw him.

 _Adrien._

 _Adrien is Chat Noir._

* * *

One of the worst things about hospitals, Marionette realized, was the waiting for information.

Nino came in before her parents did, looking around frantically before his gaze landed on her and Alya. He rushed over to them, looking frantic. She hugged her knees to her chest.

"Marinette… Are you hurt?" She shook her head mutely, and Nino let out a sigh of relief. "Any news on Cha—A-Adrien?"

She shook her head again. "All they're saying is that he's in surgery."

Nino sighed, and began to say something, but she didn't hear him.

Her parents had entered the building and like magnetic, their gazes locked. They stared at her, as if they were pleading with her to tell them it wasn't true, that she wasn't Ladybug, but she just stared at them. Tears were gathering in her eyes again; everything was so different now. They knew who she was now. They knew about Ladybug. Chat Noir was Adrien; Adrien was Chat Noir. _Oooh,_ she was going to be in _so much trouble._

Suddenly, her mom was in front of her, hands on her shoulders and looking over her up and down. "Marinette? Is it true? Are you really…?" Then she shook her head, as if deciding something. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "I'm not hurt. C-Chat protected me."

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and then her mom's arms were wrapped around her, squeezing her tight to her chest. She shuddered and gasped, then she surrendered and let them cascade down her cheeks. Her dad engulfed her other side, like they were a sandwich and she was in the middle.

She sobbed.

* * *

At 4:33 PM, the doctor came into the waiting room. The blank look on his face made her stomach sink to her toes and she bit her lip as she stood up. Alya and Nino stopped playing their game of thumb war, but they remained seated.

"Is he—how is he?" She whispered, hoping against hope that it was good news. Because if he was dead… _no,_ how could she think that?!

"He's slipped into a coma."

The world spun on its axis, doing a one-eighty on her.

"We have him on life support for now … his chance of survival is low… twenty-five percent…"

Her stomach flipped, and she bolted for the restroom. She wasn't sure how she was able to get there fast enough, though she was sure it involved shoving a few people out of the way, but she managed to throw herself in front of one of the ( _smelly)_ toilets just in time to empty the contents of her stomach. She gagged over the smell of vomit and waste as she flushed the toilet and sobbed.

 _I've killed him, I've killed him, I've killed him—_

Her mom's hand was on her back, rubbing soothing circles and her body shook.

"Do you want some water, sweetie?" She asked. She managed to nod, _anything to get her out of here,_ because that was the only thing she had the energy to do.

 _don't take him away from me, God. Please don't take him away from me…_

* * *

A day passed. And then another, and another, and then a week. Adrien's father had visited once some time midway into the week, though she hadn't been there—she only knew because Alya had told her. Marinette stayed until the nurses kicked her out, and she was there first thing in the morning. She knew her mom and dad were worried, and probably Nino and Alya too, but she just… she couldn't stop herself. She had to be there when he woke up. If he woke up.

And the guilt… it was literally eating her up. She could barely keep anything down, and she was pretty sure she looked exhausted. Tikki had had to force her to sleep a few times when her mind wouldn't let her.

 _My head's so full it feels like it's going to burst…_ she thought as she opened the door to his room in the critical care unit. She rubbed her face as she slipped into the semi-darkness and flipped on the light.

Chat—Adrien—was hooked up to the oxygen tank, the monitor beeping with his heart rate. He might be in a coma, but he was alive—at least, for now.

Somehow, tears slipped out of her eyes again, even though she had cried so much the last week that she'd thought she had no more tears to cry, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. She took his warm hand in hers and closed her eyes.

"If you die, stupid cat, I'll never forgive you." She whispered.

There was silence, which she still wasn't used to – Chat always had a flirty remark and a smirk on the tip of his tongue, Adrien always had a smile and polite words. There were two completely different personalities in the same person; two different personalities that she both adored and despised at the same time for different reasons.

"Princess?" She jumped back like a startled cat, letting go of his hand as if it had burned. Adrien's eyes slowly opened, his eyebrows furrowing together. "What—where—?

 _He's awake he's awake he's alive he's not going to die he's okay he'll be okay he's going to be fine he's still that annoying cat he's—_

She flung herself at him, ignoring the strangled gasp that came out of his throat, and squeezed him so hard that she was honestly surprised he didn't complain. And then his arms rose and wrapped around her waist and back, and he hugged her back just as tight. Tears bubbled up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, but she smiled widely and pulled away.

"Marinette? What— Why am I in the hospital? Is Ladybug okay?"

She laughed, or maybe she sobbed. "Stupid, idiotic, moronic kitty cat." She complained. "I'm fine—you're the one who nearly died!"

"You… you're Ladybug?" And then there was that helpless puppy expression on his face. "I don't understand… What's going on? Are you hurt?" His hands drifted up her sides and down her arms, looking for nonexistent injuries, and she was sure it sounded a little hysterical to him.

"I'm fine! You threw yourself in front of me and—and— _I thought you were dead_ and I just—you just—don't _do_ that again _!_ " Her voice rose to a shriek, and he raised an eyebrow, a slow going on his lips.

"You _do_ care."

"Chat, answer me seriously!" She took him by the shoulders, wishing she could shake the stupidity out of him but knowing that he still wasn't recovered from his injury enough. Not nearly. "You could have died. _I thought you had died._ If you had… I can't… you can't…"

His eyes softened slightly and he cupped the back of her head. "My lady…" He smiled slightly. "If I hadn't taken that for you, you _would_ have died. I know it's selfish, but I just… I can't let you die. If I die myself, then so be it. Besides, you would've done the same for me, would you?"

She blinked, "Of course I would, but…"

"Then nothing else to say. You're my partner, and my friend, and _so much more_ than just that."

Her heart stopped racing so fast, and she felt like an invisible weight had been lifted off of her chest. She shoulders sagged… and then she sobbed. Again.

 _He's alive. He's not dead. He's going to stay alive. He's not going to die._

He rubbed the palm of his _warm_ hand over her cheek, his green eyes so concerned, as if _she_ was the one hurt and he wasn't—"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

That was when she cupped his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him. She'd almost lost him— _she thought he was going to die_ and she was so _done_ with not kissing him or showing him affection. Life was too short to stir unnecessary drama, especially when they were _one and the same person._

But… she didn't press their lips together. There was still that hesitation, that _this is too good to be true._ What if she woke up and this was a dream? What if he didn't want her to kiss him? What if he didn't like her anymore?

"My lady?" His voice was soft, and a little nervous. She closed her eyes.

"I really want to kiss you." She confessed in a rush, before she could lose her nerve. "But…"

"But?"

She smiled a little wryly and opened her eyes. His eyes were already open. "I'm scared."

He tilted his head, and she shivered. "Why?" he asked, barely louder than a whisper. She closed her eyes.

"I'm scared this is a dream, and I'll wake up in my bed, and you're still in a coma." Her stomach twisted into knots at the thought. His hand on her shoulder was so warm, and so real, and she so _desperately_ wanted this to be real… but if it wasn't… how could she risk it?

His lips pressed against hers softly then, and she stilled. Her heart hammered against her chest, partially because she _was_ kissing the boy she had a crush on for years, but mostly because _she wasn't waking up._

He pulled away. "I'm still here." He murmured, and she opened her eyes again. His cheeks were a faint pink color, but his gaze was steady and clear and focused. "I'm still here, my lady."

"I…"

And then he was kissing her again, and she was kissing him. His fingers wove into her hair and she grabbed the front of his hospital gown, her heart hammering erratically against her chest. She stopped thinking. All she could smell was him, hospital and something distinctively cat-like and earthy, and she felt tears slip out of her eyes. He sat up, his arm tightening around her waist and her fingers were probably tangling in his hair, but he was _alive_ and not dead and—

He pulled away, and she whined softly. "I'm still here." He repeated.

She shook her head and brought him back to her, touching his lips hesitantly before she slid her mouth over his, climbing onto the bed into a more comfortable position. She was sure she was crying, but she didn't care as she kissed him, becoming more and more frenzied. Because he'd almost died, and he was alive and he was _still here_ and she'd almost lost him—

And then their lips stopped moving together so harshly, so desperately, slowing down to a gradual standstill. She pulled away a little, just enough so that she could breathe, though she still pressed her forehead against his. He was still solid. She could still feel him against her, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"I'm still here, my lady."

A few more tears slipped out of her eyes as she dropped her head into the crook of his neck and kissed him there too. "I know," she whispered. "I know, stupid cat."


	4. Stranglehold

Stranglehold

 **Summary:** Echoes of actions between a ladybug and her black cat that have been lost in time, but are no less meaningless.

 **Author's Note:** A friend of mine did this a while ago, and while I was dredging up old, unfinished stories that will never see the light of day (probably), I figured I might as well take some of the less crappy sentences and pull them together in some kind of oneshot thingy for Miraculous. I might have accidentally swiped some prompts from the NaNoWriMo forums, though I'm not sure. I think the eyes on fire one came from there at least. :3

* * *

The seasons changed from when the flowers bloomed, to horribly hot days where sweat clung to the back of someone's neck. The people went on their regular business, but there was a certain tension that clung to the air. As if they realized they were in the eye of a cyclone: where everything was perfectly calm one moment, but then that moment passed and the world outside descended into chaos.

* * *

"Have I ever lied to you, my lady?" he asked. She fell to the ground, her eyes filling with tears.

* * *

"What happened to you?" she finally whispered, confused, searching... but his eyes were guarded, a wall was behind them- he wasn't showing any emotion... "You used to be so gentle and kind..."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and turned away. "Destiny happened."

* * *

Would she ever find her own purpose again?

* * *

"Please, he can't go through that destiny alone."

* * *

"What happened to you, Kitty?"

His face was shadowed as he looked away. "I grew up."

* * *

That voice, one moment so strong and ancient and impossibly wise or something, was as fragile as a child who had just been lost out in the woods. It was terrified.

* * *

"Wait, just like that?"

"Yes, just like that. What, you're disappointed you didn't get more of a fight?"

* * *

Across Albion, Earthquakes and meteor showers and thunderstorms formed and happened without any reason at all.

* * *

This was the opposite of dark, it was, it was… _light_.

(A voice whispered in his head that where there was light, there was darkness. The light made shadows.)

* * *

He robotically walked to the sink and dunked his hands under the running water. He avoided looking at everyone and fixated on the water. It was turning red.

* * *

She gently flipped his hand over and placed hers in it. He closed his fingers around hers and took a deep breath. "What happened?"

 _You almost died,_ he wanted to say, _You almost died and left me alone again_.

* * *

"What do you think?" She asked, twirling around in a circle, modeling the flair of her skirt.

The answer slipped off his tongue. "I think you're beautiful."

* * *

"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down, I will hang you by your toenails and break every finger on your hands, I will tear open your skin until you bleed out, I will bring you back from the dead, and I will do the same thing over and over again for all of eternity."

* * *

He looked over at her and smiled brightly, and it suddenly struck her that there was something about him that was so _different_ , she couldn't tell what. But then she looked in his eyes and suddenly just knew it. They were so bright, so vibrating, they made him seem like he was on fire.

* * *

"Did I really make that much of an impression on you?"

* * *

"Still want me?"

"Like a drug."

"How romantic."

* * *

"When in doubt, dance."

* * *

"Love is like a key. A certain key unlocks a certain door, just as a certain kind of love unlocks a certain heart. The complicated part is that while a key unlocks only one door, one kind of love can unlock many hearts."

* * *

Two shadows trot along the ridge of darkness. Only a breath brighter than their surrounds, they're ghostly echoes of what the dark used to be.

* * *

No one knows when or where the stories started, the oldest known postings are shrouded in anonymity, but they are simple and powerful and resonate outwards across the net.

* * *

"Is this what being free is?"

* * *

Death never stopped her before.

* * *

They stood together, hand in hand, and watched the world burn.

* * *

She opened her palms and a butterfly was in the inside.

* * *

Watching the sun dip below the horizon, she slipped her hand into his and knew everything would be okay.

* * *

 _"Back or forward?"_

 _"Forward, definitely. I don't want to go back."_

* * *

Accidentally stabbing your best friend is not a fun experience for either of you. Believe me, I should know.

* * *

They fought, tooth and nail, against what was meant to be, and only succeeded in struggling closer to each other. It was the only link in the chain that made him dizzy when he looked at it, and it was the

* * *

"The vulnerability of some people amazes me."

* * *

They hurt each other on purpose, him with careless words and dismissive gestures, and her with hot insults and a sneer on her lips. They burrowed into each other's skin with metaphorical claws, desperately trying to draw blood, wishing it would push the other away while secretly hoping it would leave scars like stamps of ownership.

* * *

From the moment his mother had died, he wished his father would look at him the same way he once had when he was younger. He wished he would smile at him like he used to, or perhaps he would pat or rub the top of his head. He wouldn't even mind if he threw her up over his shoulder and then swing him around his study, while he held his arms out and pretended he was a bird or an airplane.

* * *

She confused him.

She was a riddle.

She was an enigma.

She was a puzzle.

And he wanted to solve her.

* * *

"I could never hate you."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Don't be—it wasn't your fault."

* * *

And the blood of his enemies . . . well, he bathed in them.

A mad cackle escaped his throat as he finally sank into the thick, crimson liquid. He was invincible, not even those pesky bugs could bring him down! He grinned at his cupped hands and scoped blood into them. One day, maybe he would even become known as God once he was the last mage on this Earth.

He lifted his fingers to his lips and poured the blood into his mouth and down his throat.

* * *

In that moment, there seemed to be something tangible between them. She didn't know what it was, but between the quiet words and the stillness of the cold air, she had felt something _shift_ between the two of them. She had felt a connection she had never really felt with him before. A part of her wanted to acknowledge it, but the other wanted to never talk about it: to keep it bottled away, locked up in her chest so that no one could see it.

* * *

Sometimes, he wondered when things began to change. Sometimes, he wondered when he stopped being that scrawny, timid boy. Sometimes, he wondered when he had grown up.

* * *

They were parting ways again, but this time, they did it willingly.

* * *

 _I will protect you._

* * *

They were falling, and he had clutched at her like she was lifeline. All he could see was inky darkness, and he knew he would have gone insane if she wasn't there with him.

* * *

His thoughts centered on one thing: _we're alive, we're alive, we're going to keep on being alive, we're going to live, we're going to be okay…._

* * *

They were climbing (slowly) another flight of stairs again, but he hadn't let go of her hand even after they had detangled their limbs. For some reason, she hadn't even felt embarrassed by their closeness. But maybe they had gone too far past the line of friendship and neither of them had noticed.

After all, friends didn't hug like _that_.

Nor did they hold hands with their fingers intertwined.

* * *

Perhaps this really was the end. Perhaps their luck had finally run dry.

* * *

This is where the story begins… and ends.

* * *

One hand shifted up and threaded through her hair, gentle yet firm and… there was a certain shakiness to it. The odd thing was that there was no hesitance…

"I'm sorry." The simple statement was murmured in her ear, no louder than whisper of wind, but it was full of such sadness…

* * *

She didn't think about it—she just ran. She ran until her heart felt like was going to burst, the field of soft wildflowers turning into that of prickly wild roses. She ran until she had no choice but to stop, because the pain of thorns tearing into the flesh on her legs became too much.

* * *

 _"If I do try to hurt you or anyone else, promise me—promise you'll kill me."_

 _"What? No! Never."_

 _"Please."_

 _"Chat—I can't—you're my best friend!"_

 _"I know… that's why I know you'll finish it. If I can't."_

* * *

A soundless scream escaped her lips as she instinctively yanked the dagger of his stomach and threw it somewhere off to her side. The ringing in her ears rose in volume, almost shattering her eardrums and she wrapped her arms around his chest.

They crashed to the ground, and she could see everything and nothing at all. Everything because _every_ _little detail_ had been etched into her mind— the grains in that green grass, the thorny rose bushes around them, the blood welling out of the deep wound in his stomach…. Nothing because none of it really _registered_.

* * *

"Please… please don't die."

There were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling for some reason. "I think it's… too late for that."

* * *

Maybe it was the stress, and it had addled with her head, or maybe it was just years of pent up feelings, but she found herself suddenly roughly pushing her lips against his and wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. She squeezed her eyes tight. There was reddish-yellow light behind her eyelids, and her face was sticky and wet but her heart was thumping and she was just so scared and happy and so many other different emotions…

And then he pulled away from her gently, resting his forehead against hers. She could feel his heartbeat slowing down— but she just couldn't let go of him…

* * *

" _Live_."

* * *

It was over. It was finally over.

Yet it still felt like the world was crashing down on him. Like it was ready to pull from underneath at any given moment.

* * *

He'd disguised his true self all his life, and he'd always felt wrong about it. Now that everyone knew the truth, he didn't care how they looked at him. He couldn't be happier.

* * *

Time was an odd concept. It has the ability to make events fly pass you quicker than the blink of an eye, and before you know it, you are an old man. It also has the ability to make things go so slow that you feel like it taunts you. Time plays with you, it tricks you, and it surprises you.


End file.
